


Compromises

by Lualie



Series: Every silver lining [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 17:10:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11257257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lualie/pseuds/Lualie
Summary: A surprisingly uneventful weekend with each other’s company.





	Compromises

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a few months back and so I figured I should hm, "reclaim" by AO3 account. So here you go, enjoy. You can find the original post [here](https://hush-falls-the-evening.tumblr.com/post/158096347060/compromises)

A surprisingly uneventful weekend with each other’s company.

At least as much as Jon could actually stand to watch Edward’s favorite shows, until the next argument would pop over who’s turn for the remote was it. Which would bring back the usual “This is my place, Jon.” followed by an unmistakable “You don’t even watch the damn thing”, and where Edward would detach his eyes from his laptop screen with a pointed “Of course I am. I’m more than capable to multitask between quality work and easy entertainment. Can’t you?” one condescending brow sent at Jonathan’s open book, nestled between his open palm and stomach.

A leg (Edward’s, definitely) shifted underneath the cozy blanket between them, pressing a set of toes against Jonathan’s outer thigh.

Jon rolled his eyes, weighing his options as he reached for his forgotten mug of bitter coffee, and possibly grin at the thought of pulling apart the content of said “entertainment”, if it could qualify as such.

The truth being they both enjoyed that part the most. As if they picked their shows solely in order to peeve each others. Surely Edward was doing that on purpose.

Instead of arguing, Jonathan settled for slipping his hand underneath the cover, over Edward’s vulnerable ankle, and let his cold palm express his sentiment better than he had the patience for.

The man, the Riddler, this vessel of annoyance and immeasurable brilliance, positively hissed and kicked with a vengeance.

Jon didn’t try to hide his grin. His eyes cast down once more, pretending to read while his callous thumb would absently coax his partner’s anger into begrudged vexation. His fingers running over an old unknown scar, resting peacefully over oh so breakable bones and soft skin.

Jonathan hummed softly, barely avoiding the next kick that followed, almost as if determined to prove a point. Probably meant to prove a point.

But it seemed to stay there afterward. A compromise of sort.


End file.
